Human
by The Ashcroft Moon
Summary: I don't feel like a killer. Sylar's monologue - Post volume 3. Sylar talks about how he got here, and what Mohinder Suresh has done to make things the way they are now.


**Thank you very much for clicking on this. This is a Sylar-style monologue, with indications of slash and other somewhat nasty but nice situations, so beware, ha. Hope you enjoy, reviews are much appreciated.**

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I don't feel like a killer. I am not a monster, a deviant or a cold-blooded murderer. I do what I have to, not out of choice, but need. It's in my nature now. The desire is in me, flowing through every vein in my body like poison.

The first time was the worst. I wasn't even sure what I'd done until it was over. At first, I had this overpowering sense of guilt, regret. Then the need started. It was like a fix I'd been craving since before the first body was even cold. I had to have more although the reason wasn't clear. All my life I've wanted to be special, acknowledged for who I am and what I can do. I've wanted to be loved.

The only time you see what a person is truly like is when they are faced with death. Given the choice, they show you their true _potential_. I gave up wondering what people would and wouldn't do long time ago. I gave up wondering what I would and wouldn't do a long time ago. There is no choice anymore, it feels like instinct. I used to think I'd be able to control it, repress the cravings but now I know the full extent of who I am.

Like I said, I don't feel like a killer, but that's exactly what I am.

He never saw it that way. Dr. Suresh was the only one who ever saw the good in me, believed that I could fight it even when I didn't agree. He used to say he didn't see me the way everyone else did because they didn't see me the way he did. Nobody else saw the softness in my eyes or the running confusion on my face as I slept. No matter what I did he'd always wait up for me. He'd wait in that chair half asleep, nursing a cold cup of green tea, breathing with such content. Even after I was forced to leave, sometimes I'd find him in that chair when I returned, holding the same cup like I never left. He always poured an extra one out of habit.

I've done a lot of bad things; sometimes horrifying, but the hardest thing I've ever had to do was leave him behind. What we had was a secret, an impossible situation. I'm running from a lot of people and nobody can know where I'm hiding: I can't risk leading them to him. Neither of us knows if or when I'll be able to come back. I try to come back often, even if he has no idea I was there.

Sometimes I visit whilst he's sleeping; fix the clock, steal a kiss, drink the last of the tea in the pot. It's just so he knows I was there, that I'm still alive and still care about him. It's just to show that I still love him.

I was a killer when we met. He didn't know it, but I was. I was relentless and brutal and…scared. I was so scared. He embraced me when others had pushed me away. He said he saw the light in my eyes and just knew. Now I feel like when we're together I forget who I am. As soon as I walk through that door I change and it's beautiful. I have no regret or guilt but the hunger never goes away. It's a constant fire within me that changes the way I see the world. He always understood that, never stood in my way even when he knew, he _knew_ what it would lead to in the end. He knew what I was capable of and yet he still loved me. He hid me when they came looking, watched the door whilst I slept, tended me into consciousness time and time again.

Where would I be without him? I know exactly where. The Company would not hesitate to take me in again, kill me. I can't go back to that. I'm being chased by so many people, been threatened with solitude, death, pain and yet, my worst fear, the thing that scares me most is that one day I'll wake up and my first thought won't be of him.

I'd say that the nights are the hardest but they aren't. In the dark you cannot see the evil in the world. In the dark you can't see their faces, you can only hear. The silence can be suffocating sometimes. When you're alone in the dark all that's left is your thoughts and the various ways your mind asks you how it came to this. The questions are consuming and yet the absence of any answers almost feels like a relief. Maybe the real answers are too ruthless.

It's not like he watched me become what I am now: he always knew what I was and yet he still allowed me to develop into a part of him. He knew exactly what I'd done but it didn't deter him anymore. Even after he discovered me he still let me kiss him. He wanted to fix me, make me better but I was beyond repair. I only ever cry when I'm around him. I have no other reason to show emotion other than proving to him that I'm still human. I am aren't I? Aren't I just a victim too? I never wanted this, need. I want to stop. I have to stop because I know that's what he wants. I want to stop running and sit in his chair and drink his green tea like I used to be able to. I want at least one part of me to smell like home.

I want him to be able to fix me.

He used to say the things I'd done didn't matter, not really. He said it was who a person was that mattered, not what they'd done, not the past. Don't ever think about the past. I have a lot of secrets. I have so many secrets and yet my love for him is the biggest, the one I simply cannot deny. I can't understand why I'm like this, why he loves me despite it. I don't feel like a bad person. I don't feel like a killer.


End file.
